


Reconciliations

by FossilizedGrablin



Series: Unnamed Series of Pointless Russingon IDK [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drinking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, There Is No Doriath Reference I'm Sorry I Tried, This is Maedhros, Too Much Drinking, WE'RE DOING THIS AGAIN, and yet probably not enough, angband flashbacks, banter as a coping mechanism, i still don't know how to tag, it is discussed though, more bratty finwions, no sex this time kiddos go home, the boys are trying to maintain a healthy relationship, they love each other very much, they're trying, very hard, you know how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FossilizedGrablin/pseuds/FossilizedGrablin
Summary: Maedhros has Fingon as guest at Himring again and tries to do things right this time. He still has Issues. But there's a party! Not much happens.





	Reconciliations

**Author's Note:**

> Still new to the fan fic thing. I wanted to do a followup of the first one and... Well, I tried. It's a mess. Have fun.

"It's been some time, hasn't it." Maedhros spoke again, quietly. "It's been too long."

It had been. Enough waiting was enough.

"Nelyo, if you aren't ready-" Maedhros silenced him with a kiss. A hard, starved, violent kiss, their first since their days in Valinor. Fingon responded to him eagerly, and Maedhros felt the panic rising. This was too much too soon, but he needed this. Blood was pounding in his ears and his shoulder and back ached, but he needed this.

Fingon had started to ask him again, "are you sure you want-"

"Finno," Maedhros pressed up against him and hissed in his ear, "Hush." He needed this. He couldn’t allow anything to stop him now. _He needed this_.

 

_A year and a month later_

 

Maedhros was getting ready to head back inside. He’d spent the last hour pacing over Himring’s ramparts, particularly the south-western wall, watching for his cousin’s arrival.

 _I’m wasting time. There are other things I could be doing while I wait. It will make the time go by faster-_ But then he saw in the distance a small company of riders in the Nolofinwion colors. His heart sped up but he attempted to calm himself down as he heard the shout from a guard about the approaching visitors. He signaled that he was aware, and then headed down to the kitchens for a last inspection of the welcome feast that was being prepared.

He was going to do it right this time. Fingon’s first visit to Himring had been greeted with little fanfare, as the fortress was still in its early stages of completion. It had been spare and strange, and… Maedhros didn’t really like thinking about it. Instead, he thought about filching one of the small, piping-hot honey cakes that had been placed on one of the kitchen tables to cool. The smell was enough to drive him mad, but he ignored it in favor of surveying the absolute wealth of food that was in the process of being prepared.

“It’s so much,” he said, after heaping praise on the kitchen staff.

“I hope it’s enough for everyone,” sighed the head cook, a small, freckled Noldorin woman named Mudien. “Since my lord invited _everyone_.” She raised a haughty brow but it was offset by her pleased smile.

“Do you think it won’t be?” Maedhros asked with a little concern.

“Oh, we will manage, my lord. Though you may have to limit yourself to two dessert helpings instead of five. I do beg your forgiveness for that.”

“I’m sure I should stick to one if there will be scarcity,” he protested.

“Don’t fuss so,” said Mudien, taking a ladle to a large stew pot and testing the contents. “This is why I can’t stand having you in here, my lord, you fret and fret. Here, try this.” She thrust the ladle at him, somehow miraculously avoiding spillage.

It was her much lauded venison stew and it tasted wonderful. He told her so, but she went off about seasoning and asked him to please vacate the kitchen if he didn’t have any helpful critique or insight. He fled, but not before snatching one of the honey cakes on the way out. He’d simply have dessert early.

He was still savoring the last sticky-sweet bite and mulling over how the guard was going to be rotated during the feast, when he heard the commotion that accompanied the gates opening. Gears rattling, metal groaning, dogs barking. He took his place on the parade ground as the Nolofinwion company rode into Himring’s fortress, their blue and silver banners streaming, their horses’ hooves pounding on the flagstones. Fingon, was unfairly resplendent in light silver mail. His thick black hair, still wound through with his customary gold ribbon, was bound up and his infectious grin was already spread across his face. His horse hadn’t even come to a stop before he vaulted off of it and was before Maedhros before he could blink twice.

He proffered his right arm. “Cousin,” he said, his smile lighting up his smooth, elegant features. It made Maedhros’s heart hurt. He grasped Fingon’s arm and pulled him in for a brief but satisfyingly crushing embrace.

“Welcome to Himring,” he called to the rest of the party. “You must all be hungry. There’s food in the dining hall for everyone.”

Horses were led off and the company trouped into the main keep. Maedhros thought he might try to impress Fingon by speaking with his thoughts.

_How was the journey?_

Fingon kept his smile frustratingly even, but his pride was apparent in the sound of his reply.

 _Not bad! Though we did run into a little trouble around Rivil’s Well, but it was dealt with_. Maedhros caught images of a skirmish. Orcs.

“They’re just skulking about Dorthonion, are they?” Maedhros said aloud, not trusting his raw thoughts.

“Scouting, I presume,” said Fingon. “None were left alive to question, unfortunately. It was over quickly. But none of us were killed so for that I am thankful.”

Maedhros kept his face blank and his thoughts walled off. Fingon was more than capable of handling danger, of that Maedhros was certain. It didn’t stop any potential morbid scenarios from spawning in his imagination, though. “And I as well,” he said as they entered the first of Himring’s great halls.

The feast was laid out and the hall rang with music and the general cacophony of a celebration. It was even enough to lift Maedhros’s mood for the moment. Servants and retainers and other guests cheered and applauded as they entered. As far as they knew it was a feast to maintain goodwill between the houses of Fëanor and Fingolfin. _And they’re not wrong_ , Maedhros thought.

 _As if handing over the title of kingship to my father were not enough_ , Fingon retorted airily. Maedhros was somewhat jarred that he had let his mind slip open so easily. It must have been the music.

 _You know damned well it wasn’t enough_ , he mentally grumbled. _Curvo still hasn’t forgiven me. Which means neither has Tyelko. Or perhaps it was the other way around…_

_When are you going to give them both a good beating?_

_When I can be bothered to give a solitary fuck about what they think._

Fingon laughed. _You’re such a liar. But I’ll humor you for now._

Maedhros paused, Fingon’s words echoing in his head. Echoing of something else. But he barrelled over it and instead replied, _If I thrashed only one of them every time they did or said something that vexed me, I would be too tired to do anything else. I find it best to remain magnanimous and ignore them._

_If you get tired, I’ll help. Tyelko is a horrid influence on my sister._

_Perhaps your sister is a horrid influence on Tyelko._

_I’m going to tell her you said that and then there will be war. I hope you’re happy._

_Brat. You know I love_ _Írissë_. Maedhros looked down at him imperiously. _I just can’t have her corrupting my brother that way_.

Fingon elbowed him in the arm _. Oh, I’m so sure! Corrupting that wheat-colored weasel…_

They could have carried on for the rest of the evening but Maedhros decided it would be best to behave as a proper host and actually acknowledge other guests. As Mudien had complained, he had invited, if not _everyone_ , close to it. Everyone from lordlings who maintained smaller fortresses in the March, to farmers and woodsmen. And of course there were his soldiers, and his personal retainers, who were almost all escapees from Angband. He had made sure the guards were on a specific rotation so that all of them got a chance to enjoy the food and song. Same for the servants. Suffice to say, Himring’s feasting hall was packed with revelers.

“A shame Kano couldn’t make it,” he mused while watching the musicians. They were a traveling troupe who often stopped at Himring for months at a time, though they also spent much time in Maglor’s Gap.

“Would you have room for him?” laughed Fingon.

“A valid point. Which reminds me, don’t tell me you didn’t bring your harp.”

Fingon’s eyes lit up. “It’s with my other things. But I’ll fetch it!” Fingon, unlike Maglor who was forever practicing but somewhat fickle about performing, didn’t need much prodding to put on a show. He bounded off into the crowd without wasting another breath. Before long, he was back, sitting among the other musicians and strumming along to a rousing refrain of… What was it? Maedhros frowned. As much as he loved music, he could never remember song titles.

A few dance circles had formed, and Fingon’s people, who up until now had been somewhat standoffish with Maedhros’s admittedly odd retainers, were now grasping hands and whirling around on the floor with them. Maedhros noticed one of his newest arrivals hanging back, thin hands clasped around a generous tankard of mead, longingly watching the dance.

Some of his warriors had found Ril a fortnight ago while out on patrol on the March’s northern border, half starved and half mad as they usually were. She was missing an eye and a few toes, and thus walked with a limp. She had calmed down considerably, though, even after just a day, even if she seemed incredibly shy. Maedhros hadn’t talked to her much, only welcomed her to Himring and gave her every assurance that she would be safe and respected.

“Ril, do you like to dance?” he asked, after exchanging a brief nod of greeting.

“Mm, not sure I remember how. And there’s this foot.” She raised a booted toe slightly, and then brought it back around her ankle in a self-conscious manner. “Would probably trip.”

“I know these Sindarin dances of yours require a lot of hand motions, so you might do better than I,” he said with a slight smile. “I once hit someone with my false hand. I doubt you’d do worse.”  
“Oh, oh no!” She tittered slightly but then looked mortified. “I don’t think so, my lord. I’m sorry. I don’t remember any of said motions, you know?” She took a swig of her mead and wiped her mouth with the back her her hand.

“Would you like to?” Maedhros didn’t want to push, but she had been watching the dance so fervently, and he well remembered what it had felt like to watch revelries from the shadows while he was still too sick and not yet readjusted enough to join in. Without Fingon he would have utterly self-isolated.

Ril chewed on her lip and didn’t quite look at him, but gave a darting glance in his direction and a quick nod.

“We can even stay back here for now,” he said. “Here, this is a good song to learn to. It’s not as fast. Now follow my lead, and bear with me when we get to the hand stuff. We won’t do anything complicated for now.”

Much to his delight, Ril remembered much more than she had let on, and not two songs had played until she led him out into a circle. She did have to shuffle a bit, but she kept up splendidly, and wasn’t out of place at all with the other dancers, many of whom were ex-thralls who were missing fingers or had an odd gait to their step.

Maedhros wished Fingon would come join them, but he also found hearing his wildly complicated trills on the harp over the other instruments endlessly amusing. Between the merriment among his people, Fingon’s presence, the food, the music, and even the dancing, Maedhros found that he was enjoying himself. It was a feeling he tried to latch onto for the rest of the night.

_In Angband, worry was as constant a presence in the gut as hunger. One worry in particular was about what was happening to his family. The enemy fed him a constant stream of contradictory lies, day in and day out. “We have your sweet brother with the copper hair. Didn’t he have a twin? He’s like a smaller version of you. Gorthaur will love that, won’t he.” “We have your Findekáno  , though he’s not quite as valiant as they say. Sobbed when we broke his fingers, one by one. Said some interesting things about the two of you…”_

The feasting had carried on late into the night. Though it had been altogether enjoyable, as the revelry began to die down, Maedhros had become more keenly aware of the ache manifesting in his shoulder again. He had left all in the capable hands of his steward, and had then escaped the hall with his guest of honor.  
  
“I’m so proud of you, Nelyo, you furnished your chambers!” Fingon was smirking mildly at the large, down-feather bed.

“I told you I was through with sleeping on the floor.”  
  
“Good, good,” said Fingon. “The looming rock pile looks good. Much more like a home.”  
  
“So glad you approve.” Maedhros went to the unsteady folding table, which he never had gotten around to replacing, and poured them both goblets of mead, even though they were both already flushed from alcohol consumption. Fingon went to sit across from him. He had earlier removed his armor and traveling leathers, and was now down to a soft blue tunic and blue and gold brocaded jerkin. Gold dangled from his ears as always. Fingon was ever committed to his singular look.

“You seem to be doing well, Nelyo, truly.”

“I am,” he said, nodding emphatically. “I like it here. And my people are doing very well.”

Fingon brightened. “I saw you coaxing that woman onto the dance floor.”  
“She dragged me onto it, did you not see? Ril is amazing. She’s barely been with us for two weeks, and look at her.” Maedhros couldn’t help but beam with pride. It hadn’t taken him very long to function as needed again, but that was just it. His people needed him. Even if he had relinquished the crown to Fingolfin, it was a time of transition and upheaval. Ril had no such responsibility to force her back into the world.

“They adore you,” said Fingon.

“They aren’t averse to you, either, dearest,” said Maedhros over his goblet. Fingon was of course popular with his retainers, with his easy, unassuming manner and bright charisma.

“It’s good that you give them a place where they can feel like they belong,” said Fingon. “They need someone who understands.” An apology echoed faintly in Maedhros’s head, and visions of the camp by Lake Mithrim so many years ago. He narrowed his eyes.

“Sorry for what, Finno?”

Fingon seemed to flush deeper. “Oh, I know we aren’t supposed to do that anymore.” He gave a sheepish smile. “But I was just thinking about…I wish I could have been there for you more when you came back to us.”

Maedhros coughed and took another swig of his mead. “We both had duties to attend to,” he said into his goblet. _I don’t want to talk about this_ . “You did everything you could. You did much for me. No one could have done more. I didn’t even know what I needed at the time. I was a mess. I don’t expect anyone to really understand, I just don’t.” _I wouldn’t want you to_.

He’d allowed Fingon a taste of his memories, if only just hazy ones. That alone was enough to reduce him to tears, which Maedhros found to be nearly just as unbearable.

Fingon reached out, brushing his fingers over Maedhros’s hand. _I wish I could always be there for you_.

“You’re here now.”

The fire hissed and crackled and Maedhros was reminded of the night of their last reunion over a year ago. He didn’t like to think a lot about that, either. It had been too strange. It had been the first time they had lain together since their arrival in Beleriand and… Maedhros swallowed and hunched over in his seat, sipping on his mead.

Fingon frowned and Maedhros started a bit when he rose from his chair. He paced around to the bed and sunk into the soft down mattress.

“ _Ai_ , this is luxurious,” he said, flopping over on his back. “I didn’t sleep much while on the road.”

“You should rest,” Maedhros said, chuckling at Fingon’s antics and trying to shove whatever gloomy thoughts he’d been having back into the recesses of his mind. “There’s a nice bed in your chambers as well.”

“Alright, alright, I can see when I’m not wanted. Would you at least escort me there, my lord Maedhros?” He had sprung up and was smoothing his jerkin down. Maedhros put his goblet down and hunched over further in his seat. His mind was a jumbled mess, but…

“Finno, stay with me?”

“Here? Overnight?”

“Well. Go get settled in your rooms for a bit and then perhaps come back? You know. Discretion and all. ...Only if you would like.”

A soft smile spread over Fingon’s features. “I might contemplate it.”

Maedhros stood and finished off the rest of his drink. “Follow me, then, your highness.”

Maedhros lay on his bed while he waited, finding patterns in the stones in the ceiling and coming down from the effects of the mead. He’d left his door unlocked for once, but kept his dirk close at hand. He knew it was a precaution born of paranoia and that he was as safe as one could possibly be in this part of Beleriand. But he didn’t like _not_ having a knife nearby. He kept several small blades on his person at all times. One could never be sure. He still half expected his old tormentors to materialize out of nowhere at any moment and bear him back to Angband. _He_ could shapeshift and take many forms. If anyone would find him again, it would be _him_.

_He lay in his cell, despondent, trying to not think too far ahead, about the next awful thing they might do to him. Gorthaur or Mairon or whatever Angband’s abominable Lieutenant called himself delighted in his “lovely russet pet”, and loved coming up with new and inventive ways to hurt and humiliate him._

_His chest tightened when he heard the jingle of keys and the door unlocking. He thought he’d been preparing himself for it but he wanted to be sick, and perhaps would have been if there had been anything in his stomach._

_The door swung open and he dragged himself up into the kneeling position he had been taught. He’d learned early on that being defiant wasn’t worth the pain. His jaw nearly dropped when the outside torchlight revealed who had entered, dressed head to toe in exquisite white finery and inky hair sparkling with gold ribbon and beads._

_“Oh, sweet Nelyo, just look at you!” Maedhros fell back, his mind awash with a mixture of horror and confusion. It wasn’t… It couldn’t be…_

_“It’s me, it’s your Findekáno  !” The figure knelt and took his shaking hands, then brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. It was so tender. How long had it been since someone had touched him like that? He wanted to sob._

_No less because he knew this was not Fingon._

_“He doesn’t call himself that,” Maedhros hissed. He was furious now. The eyes, which had been a perfect blue-gray, began to glow yellow-orange, and an unbecoming smirk crept across the imposter’s face._

_“And here I thought you’d prefer this form. I try to do nice things for you, pet, but you’re so wretchedly ungrateful.”_

_Maedhros wanted to spit, knew he might lose teeth if he did, and did it anyway. The Maia had him by the throat and slammed up against the wall in an instant. It was Fingon’s face, only alight with malice. It infuriated him as much as terrified him and he fought for breath as Mairon crushed his windpipe._

_The Maia pressed up against him, keeping a white-gloved hand wrapped around his throat. “But Nelyo, haven’t you missed me? I can hear you thinking about me sometimes. Remind me, who was usually on top?”_

_It was bad enough that Mairon had Fingon’s face, but it was his_ voice _as well. The same tones and inflections. The maia finally let him drop to the floor, where he coughed violently, trying to get his breath back. This was too much._

_“You’re withholding your thoughts again, Nelyo,” said Mairon, seizing a fistfull of Maedhros’s short-cropped hair. “Must we go over that lesson again?” Pain flared up in a recently-healed burn scar on his shoulder. He coughed again and kept his eyes averted._

No. ...My lord _._

‘My lord?’ _Fingon’s voice echoed in his head, though it was more apparent that it was a mimicry._ What a little pleaser you are! But it’s Findekáno, my love.

There was a light tapping sound and Maedhros snapped into the present, hand on his dirk.

“Hsst, Nelyo. It’s me!”

The door was open a crack and Fingon was peering into his chamber. Maedhros’s heart was beating so fast, he was shaking. “Come in,” he managed to croak, and warily watched Fingon slip through the door and close it behind him.

 _Is it you?_ He hadn’t meant the thought to be as sharp as it was. Fingon halted his approach, eyebrows raised.

_Is everything alright?_

Maedhros eyed him up and down, then hesitantly moved aside for Fingon to sit next to him. He didn’t need to force a chuckle, it came easily enough with nerves. _No, your feet have got to be freezing. Have you no slippers?_ Fingon hated the cold _._

 _Forgot to pack them_. Fingon smiled hesitantly and sat down next to him. Maedhros could feel him reaching into his mind, and he immediately slammed it shut.

“Not now,” Maedhros said.

_At Lake Mithrim, it had taken him a fortnight to come out of a violent fever. It had taken him longer to fully accept what had happened. He’d spent a lot of time staring in horror at the maimed stump of his arm, and being extremely confused about the new game Mairon was playing. It seemed too elaborate, even for him. He allowed the healers to descend on him and his brothers to fret over him and Fingon… He would sometimes see Fingon hanging off in the background, looking on worriedly, but rarely more than that._

_He was often sick from fear but said nothing, remaining passive and compliant even through blinding pain as the healers tried to work some miracle on his ruined shoulder. He eventually gained the strength to fight back if he wanted, but he didn’t have the strength to face the consequences. That was why he was out on the cliff in the first place. He couldn’t face that again._

_One day, he awoke to find Fingon sitting on the ground, leaning up against his bed. His long, thick hair was loose and devoid of the usual ornamentation, but he easily enough recognized him by the wealth of gold pierced through his ears. His skin crawled and tears pricked at his eyes, but he kept silent and waited._

_Fingon had been his rescuer. He had also cut his hand off instead of just shooting him like he’d begged. Mairon would doubtless delight in maiming him. He’d threatened as much and worse on multiple occasions. Maedhros had decided to play along with whatever happened, whether this was a ruse or not, but he was still drowning in anxiety._

_“Is this real,” he heard himself rasp aloud, to his horror. The black head turned and he was face to face with Fingon. He averted his gaze out of habit, but he had caught a glimpse of the blue-gray eyes._

_“It is, Nelyo. It truly is. You’re safe.” Fingon sounded tired, but also glad. He sounded like himself._

_“They told me you were dead.”_

_“Fancy that lot telling lies like that.”_

_Maedhros almost smiled._

After that, Fingon had been at his side constantly, trying to get him to smile again. It didn’t take long after for Maedhros to finally lose most of his mistrust, but seeing Fingon still brought about strange emotions. He found himself constantly comparing the real Fingon to the face the Maia had worn, though it had only been one of the many.

Maedhros wanted to tell him, wanted to explain himself. But he was sick of trying to explain himself. It would be something the Maia would demand of him, even though the explanations were so rarely satisfactory.

“Nelyo, it’s alright. Don’t be afraid to talk to me, please.” Fingon had tucked his legs underneath himself and appeared to be making himself comfortable. Maedhros looked him over again cautiously.

He was still beautiful, having filled out again, even after years in the ice desert. Neither of them looked like they had in Valinor, but Fingon was far more intact than he. Maedhros couldn’t help but feel an old, petty, vain sense of jealousy over that, despite his looks having been something of a curse in Angband. Fingon, however, had a certain radiance to his fëa that the wretched Maia could never hope to capture.

“Kiss me,” Maedhros said, his voice raspy and low. He was still shaking. Fingon’s brow furrowed slightly, but he leaned forward. They shared a kiss, gentle this time, almost careful. Maedhros, impatient, drew him forward by the arm and they tumbled back on the bed together. Fingon was haphazardly straddling him, leaning on his chest

Maedhros began to laugh, and couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Fingon rolled off and Maedhros could feel him gently prodding at his mind again.

_“Maitimo, sweet thing, why don’t you look at your lover, hm?” For one thing, Fingon didn’t have claws. For another, he never referred to him as “sweet thing,” even though the voice was uncanny. Maedhros was exhausted despite the stimulating aphrodisiac the maia had commanded him to drink. He met the false blue eyes, thought about spitting again, but didn’t. He was so tired. He just wanted to be left alone. The maia would grow bored with him eventually, or would have to return to his duties._

_“Do you wish to go back to the dungeons, Maitimo? Perhaps dirty those lovely hands of yours in the mines? After all I did to fix them for you, too. I don’t know, I simply get the sense that you don’t wish to be here.” Mairon was perceptive that way._

_“Would you prefer to be left with the orcs? Do you want your other ear notched?” The maia was touching his face again, too tenderly for what he was saying. His other hand had roamed down his neck, down his chest, searing, clawlike nails dragging through flesh…_

Fingon had crawled off of him. Maedhros slid off the bed and made a beeline for the jug of mead still on the table, still feeling Fingon’s eyes on him. The last few rounds had nearly worn off. He didn’t even stop to pour himself a glass, only took a long draught from the jug and slumped into one of the chairs. He made a vague gesture with his left hand. He’d left his mind wide open.

There was a long moment of agonized silence. _...That does explain a lot_ , came Fingon’s voice in his head. It was soft and he couldn’t judge the tone, so he was forced to twist around in his chair and see if he could get a glimpse of Fingon’s reaction. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, elbows on knees and head resting in his hands. All color seemed to have drained from his face. Maedhros looked away and took another swallow from the jug, regretting everything.

 _But Nelyo_ , Fingon had jumped off the bed and was circling around to the table. _You’ve told me things before. I’ve heard other things from other sources. I can put two and two together. It’s just…_ He knelt at Maedhros’s feet, gently taking his hand. “I’m glad you told me.”  
_Mead_.

 _Do you want more?_ Fingon asked _. I could use more._

Maedhros peered through the curtain of unruly hair that was falling into his eyes and huffed a sigh. “I could use more.” He tried to manage his alcohol intake. He didn’t like not being in control of his faculties. Most of the time.

“I’m not afraid of you, Finno,” he said in response to the indistinct concerns he sensed rattling around in Fingon’s head. They had set out for the kitchens, their bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. “We’re far beyond that, it’s been years.” _But…_

 _But... Your memories are what they are_.

 _...Yes_.

 _There isn’t much to be done about it, then_ , Fingon thought. In the low glow of his lantern, Maedhros could still tell his brow was furrowed in in deep thought and concern.

 _Not really, no_. Maedhros felt hypocritical but he tried to reach deeper into Fingon’s mind. He was wondering about last year, he knew he was. He was starting to feel somewhat queasy and panicky, but he only walked faster. Fingon had to jog to catch up with him.

 _Must you? Take pity on those of us who don’t have leagues of leg_.

Maedhros knew Fingon knew that he’d seen his thoughts. He was deflecting.

 _Yes I am. We aren’t nearly inebriated enough for this. Come, now_. Now it was Fingon’s turn to speed ahead. He took a wrong turn, however, and Maedhros had to catch him and steer him back on the right course.

Once they reached the kitchen, Maedhros had found more mead as well as a somewhat stronger, clear liquor that he favored.

 _We’ll be quiet_ , Maedhros thought. _No speaking out loud_.

Fingon outright refused the mead and gestured for Maedhros to hand him the large glass bottle of liquor. _Good idea. We wouldn’t want to wake anyone_.

They sat on one of the counters, small glasses of the liquor in hand. It felt vaguely nostalgic. They raised a toast to each other, and drank. Except Fingon started, sputtered, and coughed after trying to down his glass.

_Nelyo, what the fuck is this?_

_You didn’t want the mead, idiot,_ Maedhros countered defensively.

 _Eru Allfather, this could strip paint off the wall from eight feet away._ He nonetheless downed another glass. _Awful._

"You won’t care after that glass," Maedhros pointed out.  
  
_That’s the idea, though, isn’t it?_

 _Precisely. Now to business.._. The mead had kept him warm enough but now Maedhros was truly feeling his face flush with heat. The liquor was strong. He was vaguely aware of Fingon protesting something.  _What now?_

“I can’t make out your thoughts at all, they’re all a-tangle.” Fingon was slurring just ever so slightly.

“Can’t hear yours, either. I’ll rescind my rule about talking. We’ll just be _very_ quiet,” said Maedhros in what he hoped was a whisper.

Fingon snickered. “This is fun. I haven’t gotten drunk with you in years.”

“Mm, shoulda done it last time. That was bad, Finno. I bit a chunk out of your neck and everything.”

“Stop going on about that, will you? Anyway, now I have a ssome… pershpective… on the matter.”

Maedhros set his glass down on the counter and tried to carefully fill it again. “Unnecessary. Was too wound up. Not nice. Ah, fuck, I spilled.”

“Good, this sstuff is shit. Give me that.” Maedhros handed Fingon the slightly-less-full-than-before bottle and Fingon poured himself another glass. “You know I’m happy to to be your chew toy anytime, Nelyafinwë. On the one condition-” he held up a finger, “That you talk to me. ‘Bout anything. Jusht don’t do the shcary silence. I hate it.”

Maedhros was disquieted. “You’re not a toy, Finno, please. Never. I want it to be good for you, t-”

“You can call me names, recite your ledgers, I honestly don’t care, but you must talk to me.” Maedhros tried to speak but Fingon held up his hand again. “But! That’s only assuming you want to do that at all.”

Maedhros decided he was quite drunk enough. The room was beginning to spin and if he stood up he might fall over. He was frustrated and unsure of what to say. “I do, though.” _I’m not broken. I function quite well as far as_ that’s _concerned, thank you_.

Fingon’s eyebrows shot up. “Well there’s no denying that,” he said, gazing at him intently. It was still hard for Maedhros to hold that gaze, but he did.

_I was using you, Finno. The last time. It was vile. I was-_

Fingon heaved a sigh. _Oh, I know_ . “I know. But as I said, I didn’t mind it.” _Much. But you’d know if I really objected, don’t you think?_

The concept of outwardly rejecting unwanted advances was something that had been quite literally beaten out of him. He had to remind himself that it was something that most people had the prerogative of doing if they desired. But no, Fingon may have had an easygoing nature but he had never been passive about things that displeased him. He hoped.

 _Practice,_ He thought. _Bad practice, bad habits… how does the saying go…_ “Fuck, I’m drunk.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I enjoy being practiced on, isn’t it? And I am, too.” Fingon lightly drummed his heels on the cabinets beneath him and grinned.

“I’ll be good for you again, damn it,” he muttered resolutely. He pushed himself off the counter, unsteadily wavered on his feet, and then took Fingon’s hand. Fingon hopped down, and stumbled into Maedhros’s arms, where he hung limply for a moment.

“We’re not going to make it back to your chambers, fffool,” he slurred.

“No?” He wrapped his arm around Fingon’s slender waist. “You never could hold your liquor. Come, now.”

“So the insults start already!”  
  
“Shush, you’re being too loud."

With his left arm supporting Fingon and the lantern hooked over his false hand, they made it all the way to the first stairwell to the living quarters before they became tangled in each other’s legs and ended up on the floor.

“I told you,” Fingon said, shaking with muffled laughter.

“There’s two, _two_ shtairwells,” Maedhros hissed. “Who built thish monstroshity of a castle?”  
Fingon was silently sobbing into his arm. It didn’t help matters when a guard materialized out of the shadows.

“My lords, do you need assistance in returning to your chambers?”

“We’re fine,” Maedhros held the lantern aloft, illuminating the scarred face of the guard, “Sh- Salabon. We may have overindulged in drink. But we’re fine.” Fingon was not fine. “I don’t know about my lord Fingon, as he was especially thirsty…” Fingon wheezed and pounded the floor with his fist. Maedhros glared at him. “But we don’t require your assistance, Salabon. Thank you.” Maedhros realized they were right outside of the solarium with the large sofa. “We’ll just… Go in here. Good morning to you.”

“Good morning, my lord.” The guard nodded and then backed into the shadows once more. Maedhros mumbled a cursed and dragged Fingon through the large double-doors into the solarium.

He didn’t much care about his own reputation as it was already colored enough, but he prefered to keep rumors about Fingon to a minimum. Even gossip that wasn’t ill-meaning was still gossip.

“You’ll get nothing from me tonight, idiot,” Maedhros said, dumping him on the sofa. “You need to sleep.”

“C-cruel!” Fingon said, still snickering.  
“Shh,” Maedhros reached out falteringly and stroked his hair, then tugged the heavy blanket off the back of the sofa and spread it over him as best he could with one hand. He removed his outer robe and put it on backwards, then sank to the floor. _We’ve got the rest of the week. I’ll make it up to you_.

“Mmm, promise?”

“Of course.” The light of Tilion shone through the window like cold silver, but Maedhros could still make out the glow of Fingon’s _fëa_ . _I don’t deserve you, dearest_ , he thought absently.

“Nelyo, I’m falling asleep,” came Fingon’s muffled voice. “But I’m going to tell _you_ to hush, now.”

Maedhros smiled. He never completely went to sleep, but he did smile.


End file.
